


In A Manner Of Speaking

by LogicGunn



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Explosions, F/M, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Physical Trauma, Rodney Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27368863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicGunn/pseuds/LogicGunn
Summary: By the time John wakes up, Rodney has already been taken through the Stargate back to Earth.Goddamn you, Keller.
Relationships: Jennifer Keller/Rodney McKay, Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 38
Kudos: 198





	In A Manner Of Speaking

**Author's Note:**

> So...please keep in mind when you read this that I actually personally like Jennifer Keller, but in this fic John really doesn't.




The explosion is so powerful it literally rocks the city. Atlantis tilts one way then the other, flinging around anything that isn’t bolted into the floor and displacing the ocean underneath her when she comes crashing back down. The impact triggers massive waves that gain momentum as they advance, and they hit the mainland with such force that the Athosian fishing camp is all but washed away. John’s returning from orbit when it happens; he was stress-testing Rodney’s new and improved joint cloaking and shielding mechanism, guaranteed to provide twenty-three minutes of imperviability. He spots the smoke as he makes his approach; a thick, black column streaming off the east pier that gets caught in the wind and shifted south-east, smothering the newly re-surfaced mobile drilling platform. 

“Atlantis, this is Sheppard. Report.” 

A breathless Chuck responds on the open frequency. _“Colonel. There was an explosion in Janus’ lab. Emergency response teams are en-route, but there’s a lot of debris blocking the way.”_

“I’ll land on the pier. See if I can get in from the other side. Do we know what happened?” 

_“No, sir. We lost contact with the lab just before the explosion so we don’t yet know what we’re dealing with.”_

John brings the puddle jumper down, landing softly on the far end of the pier. The air is thick with smoke, so he grabs a rebreather from under the seat in the rear compartment and puts it on before he opens the hatch. The fire is ferocious, and even from here he can feel the heat. Janus’ lab isn’t far, but the entrance is blocked by collapsed support beams and crumbling walls. He skirts the building, looking for another way in, but the damage is too severe and he can’t pass far enough in either direction without being diverted off the side of the pier by collapsed sheets of outer wall. The heat proves too much for him and he retreats back to the ‘jumper, pulling off the rebreather as soon as the hatch closes. He taps his radio. 

“Rodney, I need you to bring up the schematics of the east pier. Find me another way in.” 

The silence over the radio is deafening, and John gets an uneasy feeling in his chest. He taps his radio again. 

“Rodney?” 

_“Sir?”_ says Chuck. _"I’m sorry...Doctor McKay was in the lab when it collapsed.”_

And with those few words, John’s stomach drops like he’s freefalling in his chopper again, adrenaline rerouting his blood flow to prepare for a fight he can’t have. 

“ETA on the emergency response teams?” he asks, proud that his voice doesn’t crack. 

_“ERT two is on the floor above the lab, trying to cut through the ceiling. ERTs three and four are evacuating the rest of the pier; we had a couple of teams training in one of the gyms, but all trainee personnel are accounted for. Several injuries, but no known casualties.”_

John tries to stamp down his rising panic. The only reason Rodney wouldn’t respond is if he couldn’t. What the ever-loving fuck happened in that lab? He flies the ‘jumper up the central tower and down into the hangar, noting that several of the spacecraft are dislodged from their bays. When he reaches the control room there’s a live feed of the rescue in action on the main screen thanks to the head-cams that O'Neill sent through on the Daedalus’ last run. Chuck is co-ordinating from his console, evacuating the entire east side of the city to safety. Woolsey is in the thick of it, his sleeves literally rolled up, head bent low as he talks to one of the technicians, trying to find a clear path for the medical team to get to the lab. John is surplus to requirement, but it’s _Rodney,_ he has to do _something._

_“Sergeant Harrison to control,”_ comes a voice through the live feed. 

“This is control,” says Chuck. 

_“We have eyes on Doctors McKay and Ambrose.”_

John heads up to the console. “Give me a SITREP, Sergeant,” he says. 

_“Colonel. The lab is in a hell of a state. Doctor Ambrose is stuck under a desk, but she’s talking. Sergeant Mehra is trying to get her out now. Doctor McKay is trapped under some rubble, but there’s enough clearance to clap eyes on him. He’s not responding to verbal calls, but we’re about to attempt to uncover him. Do we have an ETA for the med team?”_

John looks over at Woolsey, who holds up seven fingers. “They’re seven minutes out,” he tells Harrison. 

_“We’ll have him out by then, sir.”_

“Carry on, Sergeant.” 

John watches on the feed as the team methodically remove debris from the corner of the lab, strut by strut, panel by panel, until Rodney’s still form is fully uncovered and Harrison closes in. He doesn’t so much as twitch as the Sergeant checks him over for immediate damage, but John can see the rise and fall of his chest through the dust and the soot. The med team arrives at the hole in the ceiling, and the marines load him onto a stretcher which is pulled up and out of view. Harrison heads over to where Mehra is securing Ambrose into a harness, and the two of them help her up after Rodney while she cradles her left arm to her chest. 

The urge to rush to the infirmary and wait on Rodney’s arrival is overwhelming, but John’s the military commander of the city and his place is in the control room. He fields reports from all over the base and co-ordinates an infrastructure survey of the entire city; there’s always the chance that damage to one of the piers could sink it or make it uninhabitable. It takes hours to do the preliminary check, and all the while John has to fight with himself not to pester the infirmary more than once – all that will do is distract the people who need to be 100% focussed on Rodney’s injuries. Come nightfall the fire is contained and the structural damage is declared too minor to fundamentally alter the buoyancy of the city itself (even though the whole of the east pier is a write off) so John marks it down as a close call and hands over to Major Lorne so he can escape the control room. 

It’s close to midnight, Atlantis time, when he finally makes it to the infirmary. Rodney’s still in theatre, with both Doctors Beckett and Keller attending, but Doctor Lindsay Biro takes one look at him and pushes him down into a chair, informing him that they’re just closing up as she feeds him coffee and a powerbar. He chews methodically, but barely tastes anything, washing it down with a final gulp of the coffee and slumping in the chair to wait. Woolsey comes in for an update, but John has nothing to tell him; Rodney was taken into theatre so fast that no-one but the surgical team knows what’s going on, and no one has come out to inform anyone of the damage or his prognosis. All they can do is hold onto the knowledge that he’s alive. Everything else is window dressing at this point. 

Biro comes out of the cubicle in front of John, and through the gap in the curtain he can see Doctor Ambrose sitting up in bed, a cast on her arm and the covers bunched up around her waist. The left side of her face is covered in gauze, from her forehead down over her eye and ear and tucked under her jaw. Her head has been clipped down to the scalp, and John can smell the acrid scent of singed human hair, bitter and smoky and plastic. Ambrose looks up and sees him watching her, waves him in with her free hand, the uncovered corner of her mouth lifting up. 

“Colonel,” she says, her voice raspy from smoke inhalation. “Any news on Rodney?” 

“Nothing yet,” says John, sitting in the empty chair next to her. “But they’re stitching him up so hopefully they’ll all be out soon.” 

“He saved my life. Pushed me under the desk when he realised the lab was going to blow.” 

That doesn’t surprise John in the slightest. “I hate to impose on you, Doctor Ambrose-” 

“Jordan,” says Ambrose. 

“Jordan,” defers John. “Can you tell me what happened?” 

“We were powering up the lab. There was some kind of an energy cascade in the command console so we sent everyone away. It had the potential to build up enough to blow up the city, so Rodney and I stayed behind to try to power it down. Looks like we failed.” 

“Well, the damage is limited to the east pier, so you must have done something right.” 

Ambrose looks down as her cast. “That was all Rodney.” 

There’s a flurry of activity on the other side of the curtain, and John exits the cubicle in time to see Rodney getting wheeled out of the theatre and into an isolation room on the far side. He follows, but the nurses make him wait outside while they transfer him from the gurney to the bed, and as he leans against the wall he sees Beckett and Keller enter the infirmary. They head into their joint office, Beckett gesturing him over when he spots him waiting. 

“Colonel Sheppard,” says Keller, exhaustion visible in the line of her shoulders and the stoop of her back. She sits down behind the desk and rests her elbows on it. “How’s the city.” 

John leans in the doorway and crosses his arms to hide the fact that his hands are shaking. “It’ll survive,” he says. “How’s Rodney?” 

“Same,” says Beckett, leaning over Keller to type something into the computer. “The damage is severe, but we managed to stabilise him. It was a little bit dicey there for a while.” 

There’s a sudden, loud inhale from Keller, who drops her head in her hands and starts to sob, fat, wet tears streaming down her face as she breaks down from the day's events. 

“Ah, love,” says Beckett, and he wraps his arms around Keller. “He’s going to be fine.” 

“H-he’s...there’s so much damage, I c-can’t-” 

“Shhh,” murmurs Beckett soothingly. “You did good, and Rodney’s tougher than he seems.” 

John feels for Keller, he really does, but he needs to know what they’re dealing with. “Just how bad is it?” 

Keller stands and shrugs off Beckett’s arms, pins John with a look that he can’t decipher. “I think I’ll just go check on him,” she says, and she wipes her cheeks with the palms of her hands as she brushes past John and out into the infirmary. 

Beckett gestures John to the patient’s chair, and John closes the door before sitting down. “He took the full brunt of the explosion. There are full-thickness burns down his left side, from his armpit down to his knee. We won’t know until he wakes just how bad the nerve damage is. On top of that, there are crushing injuries from the collapse of the room. His ribs are fractured, his left leg is shattered in multiple places, and something perforated his bowel. We’ve closed up the perforation and halted anything immediately life-threatening, but he’s going to have to go back to Earth for the rest. He’ll need reductions of his leg fractures and specialist treatment for the burns and reconstructive surgery: we don’t have a dermatologist or a plastic surgeon in the city. It’s not going to be an easy recovery. On the bright side, there’s no evidence of brain trauma, so when he wakes up he'll be his usual, cranky self.” 

“Long-term...what kind of state will he be in when he recovers.” 

“The severity of his leg fractures will have a lasting impact on his mobility; if he’s lucky he’ll get away with a cane, if not, he’ll lose the leg entirely. I’m concerned for his left kidney as well, but that’s better left in the hands of a urological surgeon. There are also second-degree burns to his face, neck and chest. It’s mostly superficial, but it’s not going to be pretty when it’s healed. He’ll not win any beauty contests.” 

“Well, Rodney has enough personality to make up for any physical shortcomings, that’s for sure,” says John with a smile. It’s a long list of injuries, but it could have been so much worse. “So he’s out of the woods?” 

“For now.” 

“I’m surprised that Doctor Keller was attending Rodney’s surgery, with them being so close.” 

“Ordinarily, Rodney would be under the care of myself or Lindsay, but Jennifer has extensive emergency surgery experience. She’s was the best choice to lead given Rodney’s injuries.” Beckett scrubs his face with his hands. “Well if you’ll excuse me, Colonel, I need a shower and a coffee. Unless you have any pressing medical issues you’d like me to take a look at? Just how close to the fire did you get?” 

“Nah, I’m fine Doc. I’ll check in on Rodney then I’ll get out of your hair.” 

John leaves Beckett in his office and peers into the isolation room where Rodney’s being kept. He’s undressed, aside from a folded hospital blanket across his pelvis for his modesty that Keller is smoothing out with her delicate, steady hands, and the signs of damage to his body are striking. He’s covered in dressings and bandages all down his left side, with various tubes and electrodes attached in all kinds of interesting places. He has multiple IV lines in both arms and both feet, a central line sticking out of the right side of his neck, and a morphine pump ticking away next to him. He’s breathing by himself but has the tell-tale abrasions around his mouth of someone who’s spent most of the day with a tube down his throat. His left leg is mottled and bruised all the way down, it’s clear that the surgery to fix it is going to be extensive and painful, but no sign that any of the fractures have broken through the skin. He has both a urinary catheter and a nephrostomy in his left kidney draining bloody fluid out of his body and into frosted bags with volume markers in blocky font. It says a lot about life in the Pegasus galaxy that John can recognise almost all the equipment in Rodney’s body from one time or another. 

Keller’s hands are gliding over Rodney’s skin in any place that she can reach, down the centre of his chest and right flank, across his hip underneath the blanket and all the way down his right leg to Rodney’s delicate ankle bone. She’s still crying, her shoulders shaking with emotion as she finally lets out everything she held back to get through the surgery. John turns to leave having seen his friend, feeling if not satisfied then at least vaguely reassured that he’s going to live, but Keller hears him in the doorway and reaches out to grasp him around his wrist. 

“Colonel,” she says, pulling him into the room. “Would you stay while I get cleaned up?” 

John’s surprised she would ask this of him. They’ve been at odds since Atlantis returned to Pegasus, their relationship professional and polite but hardly warm. John isn’t sure when it began or what triggered it, but he suspects that while Keller got her man, she might have an inkling about what it costs John every day to see her and Rodney so happy together. 

“I don’t want him to be alone,” says Keller, finally, when the silence drags on. 

“Sure,” says John. “I can stay for as long as you need.” 

Keller stands, still holding onto John’s wrist. “It’s just that I’m still covered in his blood and his bile and-” A loud sob escapes her lips. She ducks her head, and despite everything, the animosity and the cold clinical detachment they’ve had with each other for so many months, John can’t help but pull her into him, cradling her head on his shoulder with one hand and smoothing the other down her back. “Kel- Jennifer,” he corrects himself. “You did good today.” 

“Some of the injuries...the damage...it can’t be fixed,” Keller whispers into John’s collarbone. “I couldn’t-” 

John squeezes her tighter. “Shhhh. You did good. He’s alive. That’s all that matters.” 

Keller nods, and John holds on to her until she’s done crying and pulls away, drying her eyes with the back of her hands. “I’ll just-” she says, pointing at the door. 

“Look,” says John. “You were in surgery for over twelve hours with no break. Go get a shower. I’ll have someone bring you a meal. Rodney isn’t going to wake up in the next few hours, is he?” Keller shakes her head. “Okay, so when you’re done eating, go home and get some sleep. I’ll take the first shift.” 

“You’ve been awake just as long as-” 

“All I’ve done is co-ordinate a few teams. You did all the life-saving work. I promise that if he so much as flutters an eyelid I’ll radio you to come back, okay?” 

Keller looks at John, searching his face as though in disbelief that it could be that easy. 

“The first thing he’ll want to see when he wakes up is your face,” says John. That does it – Keller's mouth twitches in a smile and she lets out a sigh. “So go take care of yourself, and when he needs you, you'll be ready.” 

“Yeah, okay, I’ll just...you’ll radio me?” 

“First sign of life.” 

“There are...uh...two different schools of thought on awareness under the kind of sedation I’ve given him, and I’m firmly on the side that people have moments of lucidity. So if he gets agitated-” 

“I’ll radio.” 

“I was going to say, if he gets agitated, it can’t hurt to talk to him.” 

“Noted.” 

Keller’s already pulling off her blood-stained scrubs as she leaves the room so John turns his back quickly on the door and sits in the chair she just vacated, radioing the mess to send a meal to the infirmary for her. Rodney’s chest heaves with a steady, rattling breath, in and out, in and out. John sits back and watches it rise and fall, listens to the steady blip-blip-blip of the heart monitor, enveloping all his senses in the tangible signs of Rodney’s life. He’s really dodged a bullet this time, and for all the physical damage, Beckett’s reassurance that his brain is unharmed is a big relief. Even if he loses the leg and the kidney, he’s going to pull through. He doesn’t need those to win his Nobel, after all. 

The nightshift nurses come in periodically to take readings from the machines and check Rodney’s port sites. John doesn’t get up out of the chair and no one asks him to move, working around him easily. He resists touching Rodney until 0400 when nurse Marie comes on to relieve the people who’ve been on shift a hell of a lot longer than they should. She comes in armed with mouth sponges and swabs and Vaseline and a pair of blue vinyl gloves on a tray. 

“Good morning, Colonel,” she says, unsurprised to see him sitting there. “Would you like to do this?” 

It’s not the first time he’s done mouth care for a member of his team when they’ve been unconscious, but when John takes the tray from Marie, his hands are shaking a little. He pulls on the gloves as Marie presses buttons on the morphine pump, then dampens a swab in the sterile water. The initial clean of the outside of Rodney’s mouth is hesitant and tentative, his lips are red raw from the intubation and peeling in the corner. Rodney would be grossed out if he could see John now, dragging a swabbed finger across the inside of his gums, wiping away flakes of dried blood and saliva and mucus, scraping his tongue with a wet sponge. When he’s done, he dumps the tray and the gloves in the clinical waste bin and takes the pot of Vaseline back over to Rodney, dipping one finger in and smoothing the jelly all over Rodney’s mouth. His lips are warm and pliant and flushed, and the corner of his mouth twitches when John’s done. It’s not so much a smile, more like he’s been tickled, but it’s a response to stimuli at least. 

“Hey buddy,” says John. “Uh...Keller- I mean Jennifer said you might be able to hear me. There was an explosion in the lab, but you managed to contain most of it.” He looks down at Rodney’s arm, lying flat on the bed, his hand loosely curled in on itself. “Doctor Ambrose is fine, the table protected her from the worst of it, and no one else is hurt except you. I...uh...hope that you can’t feel anything. It looks pretty bad. The important thing is that you are alive and that you’re going to be okay.” Rodney’s hand twitches, the tiniest tug of his fingers and in a moment of weakness John puts his hand in Rodney’s just to feel that spark of life. He sits back down in the chair and holds on and on, sending thanks to the Ancients and all the gods he can name that the explosion didn’t kill Rodney. 

It’s daylight when Keller returns. John doesn’t hear her come in, doesn’t have time to pull his hand away before she sees, but she doesn’t say anything about it, just grabs Rodney’s chart and reads through the numbers that will tell her about the night that Rodney had. 

“Did you sleep well, doc?” asks John. 

“On and off,” says Keller, and she puts the folder back in its holder at the end of the bed. She looks up at John’s face for a moment, and he takes in the dark bags under her eyes and the deep lines around her frowning mouth. “Thank you for sitting with him, Colonel,” she says, finally. It’s a dismissal, and John takes one last look at Rodney then takes his leave, leaving him in Keller’s capable, medical hands. He’s exhausted, so much so that when he bumps into Ronon in the corridor he turns down the offer of breakfast in favour of falling down fully clothed on his bed and crashing out for a few dreamless hours of sleep. 

By the time John wakes up, Rodney has already been taken through the Stargate back to Earth. 

_Goddamn you, Keller._




Rodney’s first lucid thought as he wakes up is that his eyebrows itch. He tries to lift his hands to scratch them but they’re so damn heavy he can’t do more than make his fingers flutter. There’s a steady blip-blip-blip in his ear and the sounds of footsteps on linoleum. He spares half a thought to the fact that Atlantis doesn't have linoleum before he slips back into darkness. 

*** 

Rodney’s eyebrows still itch when he wakes up for the second time, and this time his arms are working. He scratches them with the tips of his fingernails, enjoying the sensation of the scrape-scrape-scrape of nail on skin. Someone grabs his hand and clasps onto it, and a voice asks him to open his eyes. It feels too much like hard work so he refuses, but then someone’s lifting his eyelid and shining a torch in his pupils. 

“Gerroff,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Rodney?” Jennifer’s worried voice cuts through the fog, and he opens his eyes to see the hazy outline of her face, a halo of artificial light crowning her head. 

“Jen?” asks Rodney 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” 

“Where am I?” Rodney tries to sit up but his body doesn't co-operate. He blinks then lifts his head again to take in the room, the magnolia walls and institutional décor, the medical machines and uncomfortable chairs. “Are we on Earth?” 

“You’re in the Johns Hopkins’ surgical unit,” says Jennifer. She smiles and runs her hand down his cheek. “There was an accident, you got hurt, but you’re okay now.” 

“What kind of accident? Oh my god, John? Teyla? Ronon?” Rodney pushes up on his arms, only to have them collapse under his weight. He strains to look out the door of the room. “What’s going on?!” 

“It’s okay Rodney,” says Jennifer quickly. She takes both of his flailing hands in hers. “Everyone is okay. Your team are fine. Relax, honey.” 

“Atlantis?” 

“It’s down one pier, but it’s still standing.” 

“What’s going on?” 

“There was an explosion in a lab. The room collapsed on top of you, but we got you out.” 

That sounds serious to Rodney, but as long as everyone is okay... 

“Why am I on Earth?” he asks. 

“The damage was too extensive to treat on Atlantis. I had you moved here once you were stable enough to travel.” 

Rodney tries to take it all in, but he’s so very tired. He relaxes back into his pillow and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again it’s late at night, the room dark and quiet, Jennifer curled up in a chair at his side. Someone passes down the corridor outside, the soles of their shoes squeaking annoyingly. Rodney tries to think back to the explosion, gets a total blank. He remembers having breakfast in the mess. Teyla and Ronon passing Torren back and forth to get him to eat something. John slouching in his chair, watching Torren’s expressive face with a smile. Jen was still in the infirmary at the end of a long night, and they had plans to meet up for dinner before her next shift. But after breakfast? A whole lot of nothing. Jen said there was an explosion in a lab and Atlantis lost a pier. From that Rodney realises that he was working in Janus’ lab, and there are a number of dormant experiments in there that could have cascaded into an explosion, none of which he would have let anyone but himself go near. Which means the explosion was his fault. 

Rodney looks over to where Jennifer is sleeping, wishes vehemently that his team was here on Earth so he could see them. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Jen when she says they’re fine, it’s just that there’s knowing and then there’s _knowing,_ and without clapping eyes on their bodies he can’t be confident in anything. A nurse comes in to do her checks, asks him if he’s in any pain, but he supposes he’s on the good stuff because he can barely feel a thing. In the morning, when the consultant comes in to explain the plan for the day – an open reduction and internal fixation of the bones in his left leg – he only superficially understands the extent of the problem. He’s broken bones before, why couldn’t he have had them knitted back together with Atlantis’ tech? He can’t actually say that, so he doesn’t, but it’s frustrating being treated by Earth technology when the Ancients were so superior in so many ways. And so he’s wheeled into the theatre with an indignant frown on his face, a handful of impatient words for the theatre team, and an uneasy feeling that something is totally off-kilter, if only he knew exactly what it is. 

*** 

“Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. What the hell did they do to my leg?!” 

“Rodney, honey, you need to calm down-” 

“I will not calm down. There’s enough scaffolding on my leg to prop up the tower of Pisa. What the hell happened? Why are there metal rods sticking out of me?!” 

“It’s called external fixation, and it’s common for severe leg fractures. You had crushing injuries. All the bones in your leg needed to be fixed in place to heal.” 

“How long is that gonna take? I need to get back to At- to the city.” 

“It’ll be a while before you can go back. Months at least. There was a lot of damage.” 

“Get me a laptop, I need to email Zelenka.” 




_From: Lt Col J P Sheppard_ _(jpsheppard@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Sent: Monday, January 11th, 2010, 2300 UTC+17_

_To: Dr M R McKay_ _(mrmckay@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

 _Subject: Cwarks_

_~~Dear Rodney, How are-~~ _

~~_Hey Rodney, Hope you’re feeling-_~~

_Hey Buddy,_

_You missed taco night, but we all forgive you, especially Ronon who ate your share._

_Dr Ambrose is making a good recovery. Her left arm fracture was fixed in the bone knitter machine and her hair is growing back in but she says she likes the low maintenance of the military buzzcut so she’s going to keep it for a while._

_Atlantis is fine, the lab is gone but the pier still stands and the city barely notices the injury. Radek says everything has been rerouted through the secondary lab partition, whatever that means._

_Torren misses you. He asks for you at storytime, wants to know more about the ‘cwarks’._

_~~I need to know you’re okay, so~~ _

_Teyla and Ronon say hi. Drop me a line when you can._

_JS_

*** 

_From: Dr M R McKay_ _(mrmckay@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Sent: Thursday, January 14_ _th_ _, 2010, 1343 UTC-4_

_To: Lt Col J P Sheppard_ _(jpsheppard@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Re: Cwarks_

_John,_

_I am in hell. This is hell to me. I can’t even get out of bed to piss._ _Why did you let them take me off Atlantis?_ _They’re rationing my laptop time so I don’t have long. I can’t remember the_ ~~_incident_~~ _accident. Does Ambrose remember what the hell happened? Jen says it’s going to be months until I’m able to walk, and my surgeon won’t even begin to consider a wheelchair. I’m petitioning the SGC to take over my care. I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with pompous, civilian medical ‘professionals’. The only think they’re good for is handing out painkillers like candy._

_~~Please come rescue me.~~ _

_Please tell Torren I’ll be home as soon as I can._

_MRM_




Progress is slow and painful. He’s been bedbound for months as the fractures try to mend, flat on his back or propped up on his right side while the skin on his left side heals over. He's had several grafts over the areas hit worst by the blast where there was no dermis left to scar over. The skin was taken from his inner thighs, and though he is on serious painkillers, he’s tender and itchy and stuck in a foul mood. Jen spends most of every day by his side and he knows it should be a comfort but he’s growing more and more irritated with her endless optimism and tender care. Every complaint he makes is countered with a glad-you're-alive attitude, and all he wants is to be able to grumble and have people know it’s just his way of processing his predicament. His surgeon wants to refer him to counselling, and the only reason Rodney agreed to it is to get a little space from Jen and her never-ending smile, but it’s proving fruitless, a classic exercise in ticking boxes. What he wouldn’t give to be able to speak to Heightmeyer, she had a way of bringing out and analysing his inner turmoil without making him break out in emotional hives. 

Jen’s sunny disposition falters at the news that the damage to Rodney’s testicles renders him infertile, but even that doesn’t keep her down for long. She spends a lot of time talking about the future, trying to tempt him with all the things they can do together when he’s healed up: visit Jeannie and Kaleb and Maddie; meet her father in Wisconsin; take a trip somewhere exotic, just the two of them. Rodney holds his tongue at the last one, wanting to yell that it doesn’t get more exotic than another galaxy, and where on Earth does she think they could possibly go that will compete with Lantea? With its long, white, coral beaches and turquoise water, inland waterfalls over a kilometre high, sparkling polar caps with indigenous life forms so wondrous even Rodney gets involved in the classification process. Nothing on Earth can compare with exploration of a planet 3 million lightyears away. 

By the time Rodney's up and walking (after several weeks of excruciating physio), Jen’s found them a house in Vancouver, close to the Millers and with all the home amenities that Rodney once thought to be essential to life but has since discarded as frivolous. What he finds most disheartening is the fact that all his calls to the SGC are met with stalling tactics. _Of course_ he’s an important and valued consultant to the USAF, and _of course_ his employment is assured for the rest of his life. It’s just that every time he brings up his return to Atlantis, someone dumps another insurmountable but _essential_ mountain he has to climb over. 

_“So sorry, Dr McKay, but all personnel that travel offworld need to have a baseline physical fitness test. You can’t run any more? Hmm, I see. Oh, you only have one kidney? That’s too bad.”_

Rodney sets his mind to being the most persistent asshole he can, calling the SGC every week to enquire about his imminent approval to return to the city. He’s important enough that they can’t palm him off and pass him from department to department until he hangs up, but he can tell Landry is starting to crack under the pressure. He keeps it up, the best defence being a good offence (John taught him that one), but instead of getting approval to go back, he gets a late-night phone call from O’Neill. 

“McKay? How’s Vancouver?” 

“Oh, don’t pretend to be civil, General. Just say what you’ve called to say.” 

“Alrighty. So I’ve got your case file on my desk. Your status has been reviewed by multiple people and a decision has been made as to your assignment. As things stand, you’re no longer a viable candidate for the Atlantis mission, not with the dangers inherent to-” 

“What if I don’t leave the city?” 

“Not even then. I’m sorry, Rodney.” 

*** 

If Jen thought Rodney was depressed before, it’s nothing compared to the hill he slumps down after that call. 




It’s not that he’s not a patient man, it really isn’t. It’s just that every time he asks Woolsey for an ETA on Rodney getting back to Atlantis he gets some generic BS response about ‘long-term recovery’ and ‘taking one day at a time’ and ‘Doctor Zelenka is a perfectly competent head of the department’ (which was never in question). John’s taken on fifteen different temporary members for AR-1, all of them perfectly qualified and proficient, but it really doesn’t matter who goes through the gate with them because everyone knows it’s only a matter of time until Rodney comes back. Except people have been getting awfully complacent as of late – mechanical repairs not getting done in a timely fashion, botany getting prime placement on the offworld mission schedule, citrus being put back on the menu in the mess. Things that wouldn’t fly if Rodney was here, and that he won’t be happy about when he returns, none of which John can actually complain about without looking like some kind of lovesick teenager. 

Rodney’s emails are getting shorter and shorter, and John can feel his spirit being crushed with every word he doesn’t write. John’s worried about his mental health, enough to email Keller and ask her for an update. The reply he gets is clipped and succinct. _Rodney’s 100% focused on his recovery at the moment._ It’s a warning not to disturb him (seduce him) with tales of Atlantis; a warning that John promptly ignores. His next email to Rodney is full of every last little bit of gossip he can get his hands on, everything from Radek’s latest batch of moonshine leaking into the Botanist’s water supply (causing some of the plant life to start showing signs of Machiavellian intelligence) to Chuck’s disastrous date with one of the Athosians (which ended on a high with an honest-to-god food fight in the mess hall). Rodney’s reply is lacklustre enough for John to realise that he already knows he’s not coming back, he just hasn’t made it official yet. John can count on one hand the number of things that would keep Rodney away from Atlantis, and physical disability isn’t on that list. It’s not Jeannie, and it’s not Maddie, which leaves only the SGC cutting him off or Keller giving him an ultimatum. The worst part? Everyone already knew it, and no one had the balls to say it to John’s face. It isn’t long until he cracks. 

*** 

_From: Lt Col J P Sheppard_ _(jpsheppard@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Sent: Wednesday, September 1st, 2010, 0846 UTC+17_

_To: Dr M R McKay_ _(mrmckay@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Subject: <blank> _

_Do I need to start thinking about a permanent replacement on the team?_

_***_

_From: Dr M R McKay_ _(mrmckay@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Sent: Thursday, September 2nd, 2010, 0913 UTC-4_

_To: Lt Col J P Sheppard_ _(jpsheppard@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Re: <blank> _

_Yes._

*** 

John throws his laptop against the wall just as Lorne appears in the doorway. 

“Bad news, sir?” he asks, as he picks up the pieces and deposits them on the desk. 

John can’t bring himself to speak, just looks at the smashed screen where Rodney’s medical exemption displayed itself in smug gloating. He feels his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands, forces himself to relax when he hears Lorne radio Teyla and Ronon. 

“Major, was there something you needed?” he asks. 

“Nothing urgent, sir. It can wait till tomorrow. Or, you know, next week.” 

When John looks up at Lorne, there’s a knowing expression on his face that makes John want to punch his lights out. He does his best to keep that from showing and is glad when Teyla arrives to interrupt the awkward silence that’s fallen on them. Lorne leaves now that backup has arrived and John’s glad for it. 

“Is everything okay?” asks Teyla, calm and compassionate as she sits down in one of the guest chairs. 

“Rodney’s not coming back.” 

“Are you certain?” 

“Yes. He said so himself. And I’ve seen his medical report. He’s not fit to leave Earth.” 

“I see.” 

John doesn’t think she does, but he lets it go. 




The University of British Colombia is _thrilled_ to have someone of Rodney’s reputation on their staff. The Dean offers him tenure on the spot, and Rodney accepts. It would be foolish not to. He gets second thoughts when he makes clear his attachments to the USAF; from the Dean’s easy acceptance that there will be times that Rodney has to leave on short notice, it’s obvious the someone from the SGC has already talked to her _before_ he’d even considered the idea of applying to teach here. The thought that the powers that be have railroaded him down this path, that his own free will is being ignored and discounted, really stings, but he _needs_ this job, needs to be doing something other than sitting at home waiting for Sam or Bill to call him for help. He’s been in a rut since returning to Atlantis was closed off for him, since even O’Neill couldn’t get him back to the city that he loves. Jen took it in her stride though. Within a week of the news, she had a placement at Vancouver General Hospital’s emergency department. That they’re a six-hour flight away from her father in Wisconsin doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest, it is, after all, a lot closer than the Pegasus Galaxy, and she adapts to Canadian living with ease. She gets on swimmingly with Jeannie, Caleb and Maddie, driving Rodney to family dinners when she’s not working at the weekend and having Maddie for sleepovers in the holidays where they watch films and bake cookies and drag Rodney out to the local park. 

It’s not a life Rodney ever wanted, not a life he ever saw for himself, but he has to admit that it’s nice to be able to see Jeannie at the drop of a hat, and there’s something satisfying about watching Maddie grow up. He gets along better with his students than he could ever have imagined. Once they get over the wow factor of having a world-famous astrophysicist for a lecturer, they apply themselves with vigour and determination. When he goes to sleep at night his mind superimposes the faces of his students onto the bodies of the scientists in Atlantis, and he’s a little bit proud to know that some of them might make it there someday. A testament to his hard work and dedication to the scientific advancement of the human race. If, when he wakes, he feels despondent at the loss of his team, his second family, he doesn't mention it to Jen. She’s long since grown impatient with any and all talk of John and Teyla and Ronon, barely tolerates mention of the city itself, except to say that they once were there and now they’re not. 

They alternate Christmases between the Millers and the Kellers, swapping Vancouver for Wisconsin and back again, though you’d never know it by the amount of snow both places get in the winter. Rodney does his best to be cheerful, but more and more it’s hard to fake a smile. He knows that he’s been less than his best self for a while now and that things are getting worse instead of better. His body might have healed but his mind isn’t catching up, it’s still stuck on Torren’s grin, Teyla’s smile, Ronon’s strong arms and John’s smirk. God, John most of all. Rodney misses him something rotten and it’s only increasing with each year that passes. They email, keep each other updated on superficial things, but the things that Rodney really wants to say, the things he desperately wants John to know, stay hidden, tucked up in a box in his mind that he only ever opens in his dreams. 

Once upon a time, living with Jen would have been a dream come true. He had been working up the courage to ask her to move in with him on Atlantis, but they were flung together by the accident and if he’s honest with himself, there are times when he resents it. Jen found them a house in Vancouver, a giant, empty house with too many bedrooms and too much yard. They have to hire help because of Jen’s hours and Rodney’s inability to stand for too long. People to do the yard work and the cleaning and the laundry. It doesn’t really put a dent on their combined salaries, between the SGC consulting and the regular pay checks they both get from their day jobs they’re more than comfortable, but Rodney baulks when Jen suggests a joint checking account, and she never mentions it again. Just another straw on the back of the camel that stands between where they both are and where they both want to be; Rodney still stuck on Atlantis, Jen firmly on Earth talking about bank accounts and new curtains and visiting the pound to look for a puppy (just another thing they’d need to hire help for when Rodney won’t be able to walk it far enough when he gets home from work). 

Jen’s not without her own resentments, Rodney knows, but no matter how many medications and therapies and expensive lingerie they try he can’t overcome basic biology, and so it becomes another thing they don’t talk about, another thing swept under the rug and ignored and left to fester. It’s not that he doesn’t try to fulfil her needs in other ways, it’s just that the one thing she really needs, to feel like he desires her, isn’t something he can give her in any physical way, and telling her with words just doesn’t seem to cut it. Outwardly, they’re the perfect couple. Both successful in their own rights, a beautiful, inviting home, promotions and social events and community and _isn’t he so brave_ whenever they tell the (heavily redacted) story of his injuries. It’s just that behind closed doors, they’re both feeling the strain. That Rodney’s alive is less and less the most important thing, and other little niggles start working their way underneath the flawless veneer. 

*** 

_From: Dr M R McKay_ _(mrmckay@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Sent: Friday, April 6_ _th_ _, 2012, 1314 UTC-4_

_To: Lt Col J P Sheppard_ _(jpsheppard@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Subject: Can I have my gun back?_

_John,_

_If I have to sit through one more meeting where the Dean gushes about having a “civilian war veteran” on staff I’m going to shoot someone. I really miss my gun; think you can send it to me via the Daedalus? People keep telling me how brave I am and I’m sick of it. Next time I’m going to tell them it was a car crash. Or maybe a birth defect? They make people feel weird, maybe then they’ll leave me alone._

_Things are dull and boring and predictable, as always, but my students did well in their end of term exams, so maybe teaching isn’t a bad fit for me. I don’t miss the 3am crises that we always seemed to get on my days off, but I do miss the adventure of traipsing through forests with you and Teyla and Ronon. Don’t tell Ronon I said that. Last time I mentioned missing trips through the gate he emailed me some kind of hiking regime in the Vancouver area. I don’t know who helped him with it, but I have my suspicions..._

~~_I miss you most of all._ ~~

_Jeannie says hi, and if you ask her nicely I’m sure she’ll take a trip to the city for a weekend._

_MRM_




They finally did it. They defeated the last of the Wraith once and for all. When the galactic sensor network was finally finished, there was nowhere for the wraith to hide, short of leaving the galaxy altogether. It was a piece of cake to hunt them down once the travellers got on board, what with the SGC sending engineers to fix their ships. If there are any Wraith left in the Pegasus Galaxy, they’re not flying a ship, and if any of them rear their ugly heads, Atlantis will be ready for them. But for now, victory is assured and the mood on Atlantis is almost entirely joyful. 

John’s sitting on the balcony outside his office when the door pings. He doesn’t answer it, desperately needs some time alone, but whoever they are they persist for a good ten minutes. The silence that follows lulls John into a false sense of security, because suddenly the doors open and Radek walks in, a bottle of Talisker in hand. 

“I thought you could use this,” he says as he sits down next to John. 

John grabs the bottle and takes a long swig. The whisky is sweet and smoky, doesn’t burn nearly enough going down. “Thanks,” says John, handing the bottle back. 

“Keep it, my friend,” says Radek. He leans back against the glass window and lets his head fall back. “He should have been here for this.” 

There’s no mistaking which ‘he’ Radek’s talking about. “Yes, he should.” 

“It was his sensor network, his genius idea, that won this for us.” 

“Does he know yet?” 

“I have written him an email outlining everything that happened. I just came to see if you wanted to write anything before I authorise a data burst.” 

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave it till tomorrow.” 

“One more day won’t hurt, Colonel.” 

*** 

_From: Lt Col J P Sheppard_ _(jpsheppard@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Sent: Saturday, October 4_ _th_ _, 2014, 0846 UTC+17_

_To: Dr M R McKay_ _(mrmckay@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Subject: We did it._

_Rodney, we finally did it. No more Wraith. Couldn’t have done it without you, buddy. Wish you were here to reap the benefits. Me and Radek drank a toast to your genius. Have a drink with Jennifer on us._

_***_

_From: Dr M R McKay (mrmckay@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Sent: Sunday, October 5_ _th_ _, 2014, 1327 UTC-4_

_To: Lt Col J P Sheppard (jpsheppard@atlantis.sgc.gov)_

_Re: We did it._

_Jen left five months ago._




Rodney wakes up to someone pounding on the door of his apartment. It’s 2340, which can only mean one thing: his pipes are leaking and there’s a flood in Mrs Burrow's kitchen again. He drags himself out of bed and covers up his boxers and t-shirt with his ratty, blue dressing gown, then grabs his walking stick and limps his way down the narrow corridor to the peeling front door. The pounding is incessant, like she’s been at it for hours already. He unlatches the chain lock and pulls the door open. 

“Mrs Burrows, I-” But it’s not Mrs Burrows. It’s John. “John?! Jesus H Christ.” 

“Hey Rodney.” 

“You’re-” 

“Can I come in?” asks John, pushing past Rodney and dumping his military issue rucksack on the faded and torn couch. 

Rodney closes the door to keep the heat in. “What are you doing here?” he asks. 

“Can’t a Colonel visit his best guy on leave?” 

“Well, of course, but you didn’t mention anything in your email yesterday. I would have...” 

“What?” asks John, as he turns around to take in the tiny living-kitchenette. “Tidied up? It’s looking pretty spick and span in here to me.” 

“Yes, well, that’s cause I have a cleaner that comes in twice a week to do my cleaning and laundry.” 

For a moment, John looks a little constipated. He rubs the back of his neck. “I...uh...I’m not interrupting anything am I? I mean, if you have company, I can-” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snaps Rodney. “Who would I have over at a quarter to midnight except you?” 

John lets out a breath and grins. “Cool.” 

“Are you on leave?” 

“Something like that.” 

“How long are you staying?” 

“I dunno. A while.” John peers at Rodney’s face. He’s seen the scars before – Rodney sent a photo in a databurst once the skin had healed – so that can’t be it. “You look like shit,” he finally says. 

“I’m fine.” 

“No, really. You look awful. Is there something wrong?” 

“Nothing other than the usual leg pain keeping me awake at night.” 

“Let’s get you back into bed then.” 

“I’m not an invalid, I can-” 

“Come on, get a move on,” says John, herding Rodney back down the corridor to his one and only bedroom. “That’s it, get your ass into bed, McKay.” 

Rodney lies back down and John pulls the covers up over him. It’s kind of sweet, but first thing in the morning Rodney’s going to take steps to eradicate any such pity from John’s brain. Later. When he’s had some sleep. He twists and turns to get comfy as John heads back to the living room to set up the couch, finally settling on his right side. He’s just drifting off to thoughts of Torren when he feels a dip on the other side of the bed. 

“Hm?” 

“Shhh, s’just me,” says John, burrowing down under the covers and turning to face Rodney. “Go back to sleep.” 

“Okay. Night.” 

“Night, buddy.” 

*** 

A scream wakes Rodney up. It’s morning, the sun is streaming through the blinds that he forgot to close last night, and someone’s screaming from inside his bathroom. He flings himself out of bed, almost falling over when his bad leg tries to give out as he reaches for his stick. The bathroom door is ajar so he pushes it open to see the fuzzy outline of John standing in the shower, his back and ass and the palm of his hand bone-white where they’re pressed against the glass. Rushing over, Rodney pulls the screen open and looks at where John is standing, staring up in abject horror. He follows John's gaze up high, spots the spider sitting in the corner of the ceiling. 

“Ah,” he says, lifting his stick to press the end of it up high and squash the spider where it sits. He grabs a towel from the rail and hands it over to John as he steps out. “You okay?” 

“Jesus,” says John, and he’s hyperventilating. “Fuck.” 

“It’s fine, it’s gone now.” 

“I forgot that Earth has bugs.” 

“I forgot that Atlantis has an automatic bug removal vent in every room.” 

John sits on the edge of the toilet. “I fucking hate bugs.” 

Rodney takes in the way John’s peering down at the ground and shaking with adrenaline, hands grasping at the edge of the toilet seat and his breath filling his lungs with such force that his chest whooshes in and out. 

“I’ll move to a better apartment,” is all he says, before he steps out into the hallway to call in to work. It’s going to take all day to find a new place. 

*** 

John doesn’t leave. At first Rodney counts out the days: the weekend, then the week, then a fortnight and finally a month, before he gives up entirely. Every time he’s asked John when he's going back to Atlantis, John has given him an entirely non-committal and non-verbal answer; a single shoulder shrug. John can’t hide his plans forever though; when an official letter from the USAF comes in the post to Rodney’s new apartment, he opens it before handing it to John. Inside are his honourable discharge papers, signed and sealed by General O’Neill himself. Sly bastard. Rodney changes his estimate from pending to never and tries not to wonder why John still sleeps in his bed when there is a perfectly serviceable spare room down the hall. 

He does make John empty his rucksack into the closet, however. 

*** 

Rodney really doesn’t see the kiss coming. One minute he’s flipping pancakes, the next he’s pressed against the fridge with John’s tongue in his mouth. It’s good. It’s great, even, for all of 2.4 seconds until Rodney’s brain catches up with his mouth and Rodney realises that this is going precisely nowhere good, fast. He pushes John away and rushes out of the house and into his car, pulling out into traffic to drive to the uni campus. It’s not until he’s in his office that he catches his breath. With any luck, John will have left before he gets home. Just in case, he decides to stay for the rest of the day at the uni. It’s a good opportunity to mark some papers. 

John, for his part, leaves him alone all the way up until 1800, when he comes storming into the Physics corridor like he’s on a one-man mission to overthrow the Genii. Rodney hears him coming and gets up to lock the door, but on his bad leg he’s too slow and John bursts into the room with aplomb. 

“Come home.” 

“I-” 

“Rodney, I know I'm not wrong about this, about us.” 

“I can’t...John...I just can’t.” 

“Yes, you can. What’s stopping you? I know it’s not the gay thing.” 

“I can’t...the accident left me...I’m impotent. I can’t get it up. I’m-” 

The tears start falling, and in an instant, John’s right in his face, two strong arms holding him up. John pulls his head down to rest on his shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s fine. It doesn’t change anything.” 

“It’s why Jennifer left,” whispers Rodney. “It’ll be why you leave too.” 

“Rodney, I’m forty-four years old. I’ve fallen out of the sky in a downed chopper, I’ve been shot and stabbed and blown up and buried alive, and one time I got the life sucked out of me by a Wraith. Sometimes I can’t get it up either. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Today it doesn't matter,” says Rodney, pulling his head back. “Tomorrow will be fine too. But give it a year, two years, and you’ll be so frustrated and feeling unattractive and unloved that you’ll start to leave. It won’t happen in a day, but every time you go out, bit by bit parts of you won’t come back until there’s nothing left of you at all.” 

John just stands there looking dumbfounded and angry. “Is that...is that what happened with you and Keller?” 

Rodney sniffs and wipes his face with his sleeves. “Pretty much.” 

John’s mouth tightens like he’s trying not to say something. 

“It’s not her fault,” insists Rodney. “I'm not exactly the poster child for healthy communication.” 

“It’s not all on you, buddy. It takes two to mess things up. I should know. I’m divorced.” 

Rodney pulls out of John’s arms and collapses down onto his ergonomic desk chair, something that he was given through discretionary funding by the Dean of the university. John crouches down in front of him and places both hands on his thighs, looking up at him from below. 

“Rodney. It doesn’t matter what you can and can’t do. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Rodney feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “You said that to me once before.” 

“I meant it then, and I mean it now. Whatever difficulties we have, it’ll be worth it.” 

“It’s kind of a big difficulty.” 

“Big, huh?” says John, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Oh, very funny,” laughs Rodney. 

“That’s a better look on you. Look, I didn’t come back for the sex.” 

Rodney raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay, I didn’t come back just for the sex. I came for you.” 

“Never leave a man behind?” 

“Something like that. Especially when the man is your other half.” 

“That’s awfully romantic.” 

“I can be romantic.” 

Rodney takes John’s hands in his. “Okay, we can maybe see where this goes.” 

“Um...” 

“What?” 

“I might have a surprise for you at home.” 

“I hate surprises.” 

“You’ll like this one.” 

*** 

Rodney walks in his front door with trepidation, but when he enters the living room he feels his heart pulled in a thousand different directions. There, on his sofa, are Teyla and Torren and Ronon. He drops his cane. “How did you-” 

"McKay!” says Ronon, and he rushes over to give him a hug. It doesn't escape Rodney’s notice that Ronon’s being especially careful with him, but he can’t bring himself to care. Torren grabs onto his bad leg before any well-meaning adult can stop him, but Rodney just bends down to pick him up. 

“Oh my god, Torren, you’re so big!” Rodney looks over to Teyla, who’s waiting patiently for her turn. When Ronon drops back, she leans in and presses her forehead to Rodney's, her hands on his shoulders and Torren pressed between them. “I can’t believe you’re all here!” says Rodney. 

“We waited patiently for Woolsey to get the paperwork sorted out when John came back to Earth. You both may not be allowed through the ring of the ancestors, but we are.” Teyla touches the scarred side of his face with reverence. “It is so good to see you, my friend.” 

“What she said,” says Ronon. 

John, who has been quietly filling the kettle to make some tea, is interrupted by Ronon giving him a bag of something. 

“How did you manage to get them to allow you to bring Athosian tea?” he asks, grinning. 

“We didn’t tell them,” says Ronon. 

“No one specifically asked if we were carrying anything consumable,” says Teyla, her smile amused and knowing. 

Torren plays with the buttons on Rodney’s shirt. “Uncle Wobnee, Uncle Wobnee, I have a wabbit.” 

From out of a bag, Teyla produces a familiar, worn rabbit that once belonged to Madison. Rodney sent it through on the Daedalus for Torren’s name day last year. He's touched to the core that Torren likes it so much, and the grin on Torren’s face when he shows Rodney his teddy is infectious. 

“Who’s for tea?” asks John, bringing over Teyla’s teapot and some Athosian cups. 

“You brought your tea set,” says Rodney. 

“Only the best for the team,” says Teyla, and she takes Torren onto her knee as Rodney sits and gets comfortable on the couch. John sits next to him, his thigh pressed tight against Rodney’s. It’s a lot like old times, and sure, they might not be on Atlantis anymore, but it’s team and it’s home, and it’s more than Rodney could have asked for.


End file.
